


Sacrifices (or murder?)

by Emanating_Auras



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hurt Slight Comfort, Kokichi is actually quite nice, Sad Shuichi Saihara, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Shuichi is depressed, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The killing game takes its toll on Shuichi, Trigger warning btw, all the mentioned characters are only talked about briefly, can be read as ship but I wrote as platonic, except Kaede lmao, gee this is fun, im sorry, this is a vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22800064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emanating_Auras/pseuds/Emanating_Auras
Summary: Shuichi hasn't been a great place mentally, even before the killing game. He finds himself responsible for every execution, the blood is always on his fingers. He is the detective, but in essence that means he's also the killer.Kokichi starts to catch on.
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede & Saihara Shuichi, Ouma Kokichi & Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 151





	1. Chapter 1

Shuichi stumbles blearily out of the trial grounds, heart throbbing too fast for comfort.

Kirumi’s death was his fault. Again.

He can’t get the horrible squelching noise out of his head.

And he killed her.

It’s not any surprise to him anymore. his guilt only increases each time he has to condemn another one of his (guilty, always guilty) classmates to execution by Monokuma.

Just as they kill to try and escape, he kills out of necessity: if they get the culprit wrong, they die.

He knows it’s not fair to want this, but he wishes sometimes that he gets it wrong. He picks the wrong person and he can just die. Fade away from all this suffering.

What’s stopping him now, actually?

Shiuchi hates this train of thought, but it’s so appealing to him that he loses his senses. By the time he’s aware of what’s going on, he’s hunched over in—

Kaede’s lab.

He doesn’t know why his subconscious always brings him here, reliving the moment of her death.

Maybe it’s because she was his first kill.

He’s considering calling for Monokuma and begging for an execution. As per killing game rules, he has killed someone. Everyone knows. Just... why hasn’t he been executed yet?

The rope. It’s always with him, tucked away in his jacket pocket. His fingers are always blistered from rubbing it back and forth, but it’s better than feeling that crashing guilt that plagues him most days. He fishes it out now, eyeing the sections with the most wear.

Maybe he could...

He doesn’t let the thought finish, but the impact of it sinks in a second too late.

He knows how to tie a hangman’s noose; not sure from where, but his fingers know the damn knot well. That’s what he does now, ignoring the open and raw blisters as he ties it up.

That’s what they’d all want, right? Kaede, his best friend since coming here, condemned to death because of his pursuit of the truth. Kirumi, whose duty mattered much more than their lives _what’s wrong with us_

There’s so much blood on him that he can’t think. All he can do is hold the knot to his chest and hunch over, dry sobs echoing in the room. He hasn’t got the energy for tears.

_“I want you to believe in yourself too, Shuichi!”_

He imagines Kaede standing before him. Is she disappointed in him? For not preventing her death?

_“Of course I am, Shuichi. You stood by and did nothing as I died. What kind of friend are you? You’re not even a real detective.”_

Shuichi chokes back a sob and shakily gets up. He’s done. He can’t take much more of this.

As if on autopilot, he drags the piano stool to the centre of the room, reaching up and tying the rope to the ceiling beam.

He finds a scrap of paper and pulls out a pen, writing a few quick words. He hesitates, and that’s his undoing.

“Shuichi! Are you grieving over your—“

Kokichi bursts into the room like a little kid running for an ice cream stand, a grin displayed on his childlike face.

Shuichi doesn’t move. He’s too tired to.

_Wouldn’t he want this anyway? I’m just a useless, boring character in his eyes._

But he’s quickly proven wrong, as Kokichi does not stop running, eyes starting to widen in alarm, an unusually serious expression on his face.

_He’s— get to the rope, now._

Shuichi makes a desperate lunge for the noose, barely laying his blistered fingers on it before Kokichi barrels into him, sending him halfway across the room.

The impact knocks the breath out of him, leaving him sore and empty.

“Fuck,” he breathes, chest constricting tightly. Kokichi’s carefree smirk has been replaced by a worried frown, a heavy air hanging between the two of them.

“Shuichi.” Kokichi speaks, and that’s all he hears before he’s lunging at him again, feral and wild like he’s never been before, angry and fierce like he’s got nothing to lose.

Maybe he doesn’t.

He rams his arm into Kokichi’s jaw, but evidently he’s weak and doesn’t put enough force behind it because Kokichi merely holds onto his arm and twists, sending him to the floor.

He doesn’t get back up. There’s no point, is there? He’s tired and he wants nothing more than to be able to leave.

Leave.

So appealing to him. But if Monokuma thinks he can get a motive out of this, he’s wrong.

At least his class trial will be entertaining?

Tears streak down his face, but he doesn’t register much beyond that. Someone’s arms are around him. He doesn’t care if it’s Kokichi or just his imagination, but they feel so warm and so… alive that he breaks down, clutching onto it like a lifeline.

 _Breathe,_ he desperately thinks, _breathe!_

Suddenly the warms arms clutching him become burning, searing hot pillars of fire, and he _screams,_ thrashing wildly. But they don’t let up, and he’s forced to writhe around in pain as the attack runs its course.

He doesn’t know how long it is before his eyes clear, and warm arms are still wrapped around his cold body. He shifts uncomfortably, and the arms let go.

Kokichi’s unusally serious and disappointed tone stings his ears. “Shuichi, why didn’t you tell anyone?”

He doesn’t have the energy to reply, opting for to shake his head instead. He’s so tired, he just wants to sleep.

Kokichi begins to talk, but finally, lady darkness claims him, plunging his consciousness into sweet, sweet nothingness.


	2. Chapter 2

He has one moment of peace before he fully wakes up, a feeling of blissful peace that he desperately clings to before it vanishes, leaving him empty and drained.

Kokichi is by his bedside, pacing impatiently as he threads knots of rope together.

He gingerly steps out of bed, and Kokichi stops pacing. instead he gently grasps shuichi’s wrists, tugging at them silently.

 _Not now,_ his gaze tells him. _I’m weak and I know it._

Kokichi sighs and turns to face Shuichi fully, grasping the rope that Shuichi nearly hung himself with.

He’s not expecting Oma’s first sentence to him after all this to be “we need to talk”, but in retrospect he should’ve seen it coming. His chest feels like it might burst open at any point, (and the scary thing is he wouldn’t really mind).

“When?” Kokichi perches on the edge of the bed, as if still deciding whether he should sit or not.

Shuichi knows not to mess with Kokichi, but he still has to fumble as the words come out of his mouth. “For a long time, really… but it picked up after— after Kaede.”

_Kaede._

The name sears a hole through him, and it’s all he can do to wipe his body of emotions before guilt consumes him again.

Kokichi doesn’t speak, but his striking gaze turns towards Shuichi’s covered-up arm.

He lowers his head, tugging on his hair like he would for his cap. He wishes he could hide his ashamed face from him, who’s gaze seems to strip him bare.

“Sometimes, before. A lot more now.” The words feel filthy coming out of his mouth, like he’s revealing something he shouldn’t have done.

(He can’t say he regrets it, though).

The smaller boy doesn’t reply, simply approaching the detective and leaning his small frame against him. Warmth blossoms in his chest, and shuichi forces out a tight smile as his tense (always tense) muscles relax somewhat.

They spend the day like that, only occasionally leaving each other for a bathroom break. Shuichi barely moves, eyes darting across the room like he might see something new there.

But no.

Same scenery as always, same dreariness.

Is this what Monokuma calls “despair”? If so, he’s finally understands.

The sun goes down, and Shuichi sleeps.


	3. Chapter 3

Gonta’s dead.

Gonta’s dead and it’s all because of that _stupid_ Kokichi and his _fucking delusional plans_ and _why do we need to kill, why do we_ and _he’s never good enough to save them_ he’s not a detective _he is a murderer just like the rest of them_

He does make it to his room before the tears come, hot and angry, like drops of fire on his palms as he sees the blurry liquid drop into his hands.

His teeth bite into his lip, drawing blood.

_Never enough. Never enough._

He closes his palms and flings the remaining tears at the wall. They slide down like—

_Blood, blood everywhere. Dripping off Rantaro’s corpse, leaking off Angie, running down Tenko’s spine, crimson splashing in the darkness_

and he’s so… furious, why couldn’t it be him? He is the judge, he is the jury and he may as well be the executioner, detectives don’t _kill_ they uncover the truth, but he—

( _Let me die already, he imagines baring his teeth at Monokuma, hand raised to strangle it)_

( _Monokuma yields but he doesn’t relent, machine parts splattering across the floor, until finally Monokuma is a pile of nothing beneath his feet and he’s free—)_

“Shuichi. Shuichi!”

_Kokichi._

He doesn’t have the energy to scream or cry or do all the _horrible_ things he wants to inflict on Ouma, so he settles for a pained whimper as his breathing constricts again.

A few seconds of wiggling the lock with a pin is all Ouma needs to enter Shuichi’s room.His piercing purple eyes take on a dark tone in the dimness of Shuichi’s room, and _he’s about to kill me isn’t he_

Kokichi shifts, and the door slams shut.

 _Let him come to me,_ Shuichi thinks, a grim smile emerging from his blood-stained lips. _Let him finish it._

Ouma moves, each step echoing around Shuichi’s room like an earthquake, but he feels nothing as Kokichi steps closer. Maybe even relief.

_It’ll be over soon, I don’t have to suffer anymore_

_Kaede, I’ll see you soon_

_I can finally apologise to you_

_Kirumi, Korekiyo, Gonta_

_Why did I condemn you guys?_

_Maki, Himiko, Keebo, even Kaito won’t have to deal with me anymore_

_they weren’t guilty I could’ve saved them_

_I could’ve saved them all_

He looks up, anticipation curling in his stomach. It’s the most he’s felt in ages.

Kokichi’s not holding a knife. Or a weapon, for that matter. His hand comes to rest on Shuichi’s, gentle warmth spreading from the point of contact.

“I— I thought you were here to kill me,” Shuichi mumbles, voice crackly and distorted. He can barely even hear himself.

“Nonsense, Shuichi. No more killing.” Kokichi drops his playful tone, and an edge enters his voice. “ _No more killing._ I’ve had enough.”

He feels something lighten. It’s more akin to a steel block becoming a block of iron, but any relief is welcome. “Disappointing. Thought you were here to finish the job.”

He doesn’t need to look at the boy to know he’s frowning. “I thought you knew better than this, Shuichi.”

And that stings. He flinches back on instinct, tears gathering again. “Says the person who manipulated Gonta into _committing murder,_ ” he bites back with all the venom he can muster at the moment.

He thinks for a moment that Kokichi might laugh, or stand up and stride off haughtily.

Who is Shuichi to judge? He is nobody.

He is _worthless._

Kokichi hums, unbothered. “Have you been back at it again?”

His involuntary flinch is all the reaction he needs.

“Arm.” It’s not a question.

The jolting movement sends crimson, or under the lack of light, inky darkness flicking off the wounds. It’s all Shuichi can do to not curl up and cry as Ouma observes his arm, ghostly fingers tracing lightly over each wound.

_Pathetic._

_Weak._

He doesn’t register anything until Ouma shifts, and suddenly they’re lying side-by-side on the head, both pairs of eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Only then does he notice the pressure on his arm, pristine white bandages wrapped tightly around the wounds. Faintly, he sees darkness already seeping through it.

…

The effort it takes to look at them feels exhausting, so he drops his arm, suddenly devoid of any strength.

“…” Kokichi takes a breath, but Shuichi hears the hesitation long before he speaks. “You’ll be ok. I’m here. So are Kaito and Maki.”

Unbeknownst to Shuichi, Ouma’s lip curls in distaste at the two names.

“You don’t need to be alone.”

Shuichi huffs. “Where did this come from? Thought you were a genocidal dictator or something.”

The anger is half-hearted, but Kokichi bristles nonetheless. “I only act that way ‘cause it’s useful. You think I meant it? Pssh.”

Shuichi hums in acknowledgement, eyes half-closed. “I guess we’re kinda similar, huh? I gotta be a detective because of this stupid killing game. You gotta be evil to… do whatever.”

They lie in silence for a while, not exactly comfortable, but reassured by each others’ presence.

Shuichi dozes off, mind free of any torment.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this as a vent fic for myself, but as the days grew shittier I wrote more and more until this fic popped out. Since it's quite self-contained already (and already pretty late into the killing game), I don't have too much material to go off of, so I'll end it here.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [too loud](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860633) by [froggie_1824](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggie_1824/pseuds/froggie_1824)




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